The Island of the Dark
by Aleirbag Eiram
Summary: Marooned on an island, a group of alien young adults, saved from their fate of slavery, attempts reconstruct their shattered lives with a new one together on the sandy shores. Throughout all the dangers, however, with the lurking creatures in the darkness and the nameless fear of the shadows, there is one threat that may break everything apart: Their distrust of each other.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guess what everybody...**

**IT'S ANOTHER INVADER ZIM FIC! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!**

**Seriously. There's something wrong with me. I really should expand my horizons...**

**But, I guess it was inevitable. My ipod only has capacity for the few Invader Zim episodes that I can squeeze on it, and no other videos. So when I went to Hawaii, I watched it for six hours straight. (The plane had a power outlet! CAN YOU BELEIVE THAT? TECHNOLOGY! 0:)**

**Anyway, I have a tendency to think about things influenced by my surroundings. I started thinking about Bear Grylls for some reason, about Invader Zim, about Hawaii (Tropical islands, more like it...) and WHAMOO. At night. While sunburned and feeling sorry for myself.**

**INSPIRATION.**

**Yeah, a vauge Lord of the Flies undertone wormed its way in somehow, but I didn't think about it until after a third of the story was already made up. (And honestly, I haven't been able to think about island without thinking about that book ever since I read it. Freaky) Anyway, that's it. It'll be a little darker than most of my other stories, but that should give a break from the sickly-sweet joy, right?**

**I HOPE YOU ENJOY! ANY IDEAS WOULD BE APPRECIATED!**

**(Rated T for language and violence.)**

**ONWAAAAAAARD!**

**(P.S, this is a short introduction. The rest of the chapters are going to be quite a bit longer)**

* * *

Riko Zuth was perhaps the most vile creature in the universe.

He was nearly seven feet tall, and covered from head to toe in tanned, leathery skin. With the short little horns on the top of his head, he looked like a peeling bat with its skull smashed into about six pieces.

But then again, he was Fixllryan. And the Fixllryan race was not known for its beauty.

It was, however, quite famous for its major involvement in the slave trading.

Zuth was the captain over a rather large ship with a rather nasty crew, known as the Solstice for no other reason than the fact that it sounded scary to people who didn't know what it was. Their sole purpose in life was spreading fear, pain and suffering in any place they came across. Which had been quite a lot. Zuth reckoned that his papa would be proud if he actually cared what his papa thinked. Or if he liked his papa.

Riko Zuth was also a man of action. He had a lot to live up to for the expectation of his community and race. A lot of people to steal and places to burn.

How exhausting.

As of the moment, Zuth was rather pleased with himself. He'd spent about three months adrift in space, landing on whatever planet seemed to catch his eye. (Which was all of them)

Three months was a lot of places visited. He had gathered quite a nice little hoard down in the bottom of his ship: Blue-skinned, red-skined, bug-eyed, scaly, horribly disfigured, beautiful. Yes, he had gotten some rather interesting specimens this trip. They would fetch a nice price.

Zuth lowered his gaze to the metal cages in the open space below him. He was heading back home now with his haul, and everyone seemed to sense it. His crew was ecstatic. The slaves were quite less so. They sat there, huddled in little groups, some crying, some in shock. It was very satisfying.

Zuth let his eyes wander over them. He named some of the species in his head.

_Mekks, Mecrobs, Shullzans, Vortians, Gengths, Rexons... Some rather common, I'm afraid, but they're good workers._

Zuth like to separate his slaves by age. Put children with adults, he figured, and the adults will start thinking up all sorts of ways to escape using kids. Separate the younger, the adults won't dare leave them or see them hurt. Pure genius.

In a cage filled with a large group of young ones below the age of twenty, Zuth noticed a considerable pile-up against one side. Curious, he peered down into it and surpassed a laugh when he saw the reason.

_Ah yes. The Irken._

He still didn't quite understand how that particular slave had managed to fall into his hands, but the happy accident was certainly welcomed by him. It was almost as if it were a gift from a higher power.

His crew had landed on a small, relatively deserted planet to refuel. A scouting party had returned with the half-drowned, nearly dead Irken, claiming they had found him washed up on a beach.

It was puzzling, considering the the Empire's reach didn't extend that far into space. But there were many things that Riko Zuth didn't care to find out, and the Irken's backstory was one of them. As far as he was concerned, it was just the creature's bad luck.

Of course, the Irken would have to be treated differently than the rest. Zuth's main buyer was the Irken Empire itself, and he doubted that trying to sell them one of their own wouldn't go down well, regardless of the status the rouge Irken held. He would have to be sold to some special buyers. Ones who wanted to feel above the Irken race somehow.

An Irken slave would do the trick. And since there was really no such thing as an Irken slave, because the race dominated most of the known galaxy, the unfortunate kid would fetch a rather large price. The thought was utterly wonderful.

Zuth chuckled to himself quietly and glanced once again at the Irken, huddled miserably in the corner away from his other cell mates. His eyes, a most brilliant shade of purpled maroon, were slitted and glazed over with an exhausted, sick look to them. Even his skin looked rather pale.

_Tough._

The captain found himself smiling at the Irken's discomfort. Obviously, the others in his cell had no desire to be within three inches of him.

_He won't have to deal with that for long. He's a rather handsome devil. It won't be hard to find a buyer._

"Captain!"

Zuth perked up and saw one of his crew members running towards him, a scroll of paper in hand and a pile of soot on his face.

_What is it THIS time?_

"There's a problem in the boiler room!" the man panted, coming to a halt in front of Zuth. "One of the pipes broke, there's smoke everywhere-"

"Fix it."

"Yes Captain, well, if you look here..."

The man tried to point out something on the long strip of paper, but Zuth waved him off.

"Go bother someone else with this matter. I'm not going to go down there and pull the wrench."

The man opened his mouth to reply, closed it, and then nodded obediently. It was common knowledge on board the ship that any crewmember that displeased Riko Zuth would find themself 'relived of duty.' They would, however, be given another way to be useful: being sold themselves along with the people they captured.

The wheel of fate and karma spun its way around, as it was.

Zuth's mind was still on the prisoners as he watched the crew member run away in the opposite direction.

_You know, I think I already know someone who'd be interested in buying an Irken… That means I'll have to trek quites a ways from the normal route, but what're ya gonna do? It's business. _

The group of children huddled closer together, uncomfortable and frightened under Zuth's gleeful stare. It was then that a sharp and piercing gaze caught the captain's eye.

_Of course. It's her._

The Irken nearly forgotten, Zuth's attention turned to another child in the cage, one of the elder ones.

_Out of all of them, she's my treasure. It's a once in a lifetime find._

The girl was of delicate build, with a slender frame and waist-length locks of swirling silver hair and navy blue tatoos framing her eyes and twisting across her skin like vines. Her eyes, also silver, stared coldly up at the slave trader with an air of utter loathing and disgust.

Not once since she had been put in the cage had Zuth seen that girl cry.

_Enchanting. I don't quite understand what species she is, but the more exotic the better. She's the type of slave that a rich noblman wouldn't mind spending a lot of money on to be his mistress. No house work for that one, no… She's different._

If he was going to be honest with himself, Zuth really didn't want to give her away, regarless of the price she would fetch. He was rather fond of her looks, and delighted that she seemed more annoyed by his presence than frightened. He always liked a challenge when it came to women.

_I might make her mine. I mean, I did find her. Finders keepers._

Zuth spat a glob of mucus onto the ground and started to laugh, feeling light and happy at the way things were turning out for him.

_Fuck you, pa. I'm doing just fine. I come and go as I please, and there ain't no one who would dare question me._

Turning away from the slaves, satisfied that everything was secure, Zuth's thoughts strayed to the future, imagining a new load of riches and perhapes a pretty little silver-haired slave pouring him a glass of wine with sweet words on her lips.

Life was certainly good.

What could possible go wrong now, with home so close on the horizon?


	2. Chapter 2

**Back again with some more of the story! Response seems positive, so I think this one'll be a keeper. Maybe.**

**P.S: If you have any ideas, feel free to share. I kinda have a really ****blank spot midway through the story that I just can't seem to figure out. (That happens to me a lot, no?)**

**And... I sorta blanked just now... and wrote a really short chapter. Sorry. It'll start picking up soon, I promise. :D**

* * *

The slaves watched Riko Zuth laugh and shuddered in response, feeling the cold weight of despair press down upon them. His laugh was like the wind before a hurricane: Loud, cold, and always signaling a greater danger sometime down the road.

But for Lyrana, Zuth's laugh was an opportunity. It meant his guard was going down, and she'd have a chance to catch him by surprise at some point.

Flicking a strand of silver hair away from her eyes, Lyrana lowered her hatful gaze from the slave lord and tenderly rubbed the forehead of a weeping girl, some years younger than herself.

"Hush, Vikka..." she whispered. "Don't let him see your tears."

The young girl simply whimpered and continued to give out muffled sobs from behind her hands.

The slaves understood that their time on the ship was drawing to a close. This was not exactly something to be happy about, since it was going to be pretty much 'out of the frying pan and into the oven,' as the saying went.

But Lyrana remained defiant in the face of hopelessness, as she'd been since her capture. She hated the slavers with ever fiber of her being, and knew that she would be able to repay them for their 'kindness' at some point in time.

At that moment, the silver-haired girl was radiating an almost overwhelmingly strong aura that was sensed by everyone sitting around her. That's why she was so looked up to by the others; they were able to cling onto her confidence and tenderness towards them as a lifeline to a tiny ray of hope. If all hope went out, then the slaves would fall into utter dismay, no longer finding the reason in living. Lyrana was the only thing that kept them going. She was the light.

The Irken felt that way too, but he kept this thought to himself rather than openly share it like the others did. He knew he wasn't welcomed, even in the hell-hole of a place, which only added to his depression.

He wasn't entirely sure still how he'd gotten on the ship, since all he could remember was crashing and then waking up with chains all over him. But the lingering memories still remained of a bitter betrayal that he continually tried to forget, since it was no longer relevant.

But it hurt. A lot.

Also, it was plainly obvious that his captors hated him more than they disliked the others. The fact that their main buyer was the Irken Empire only gave them more of a reason to hurt him. It was their way to take out every bit of anger they had towards his entire race, since they needed the empire to buy their slaves yet still felt bitter towards them.

He was the rock between two clashing rivers, with neither lessening their blows on him due to their conflict with the other.

The Irken curled up miserably, shivering as his back pressed up against the cold bars of the cage. The uncomfortable mix of the freezing metal on his feverish skin was something that he still hadn't gotten used to, and felt that he probably wouldn't anytime soon. He hated feeling so useless and weak. He was not supposed to be weak. He was not supposed to be useless. Normally, he would have tried anything to get out of the situation and escape.

But even with his strong build and surprising height for being a simple soldier in the size-dominated culture of Irk, he could feel his energy slipping with each passing day of his containment. No food, no water, and not even rest. He didn't even dare to sleep. The irken understood perfectly that his cell mates saw him as a threat. The minute that he gave them any sort of opening, they would dispose of him. He knew they wouldn't hesitate.

And to be honest, he didn't feel bitter towards their bitterness. The empire had done some terrible things that he himself had not agreed with. But regardless of his standing, the others only saw him as an enemy.

He hadn't sleep in almost a week, instead keeping himself conscious to keep track of the things going on around him. At first, it was easy. The adrenaline alone would have kept him awake even if he had _wanted_ to doze off.

But then the beatings had started for him. The guards would take him out of the cage to another room and proceed to punch and kick every part of his body hidden by his meager clothing, using his pain as a way to cope with the anger they felt towards the empire for whatever reasons they had. The Irken had dealt with it, knowing that they wouldn't dare kill him, but the added pain and stress made it that much harder to remain awake when his body begged for rest.

He wasn't even sure now who his worst enemy was. The guards or the slaves? There had been a time when, locked up in the cage, staring blankly into the dark while tried to numb the ache of a recent beating, the Irken had considered flinging himself against the bars and ending the stress. The thought of release had been so powerful, it frightened him. However, it was also so alluring, that he came very close to going through with his plan. To him, it was the only choice he could make.

But then, he had felt a presence in the dark, and a soft voice whispering in a hushed tone as to not alert the others that said: 'Drink some water.'

The Irken had felt a small bowl pressed into his hands, and gentle fingers wiping away the beads of blood on his on his lips. It was that girl, Lyrana, who had showed him pity. It was she, who in that moment, had unknowingly saved his life.

She hadn't spoken to him again since then, but there were times where her eyes would find his, an unspoken question on his well-being. It was in these moments that the Irken felt relieved that there was one person who did not wish him dead. Perhaps, in actuality, she didn't like him, and had only offered him the water as an act of kindness. Regardless of what her true feelings were, however, the Irken knew that he would be grateful towards her for the remainder of his life.

It was just that he didn't believe his life would go on for much longer.


End file.
